BEYOND THE PROBLEM OF EVIL

by Wayne Ferguson

NOTE TO THE READER: This paper is written with
a view to encouraging genuine dialogue between those who believe that the
fullest and richest experience of truth and life can be attained only by
pursuing God within the bounds prescribed by Christian orthodoxy and those
standing outside of orthodoxy, who in all sincerity have concluded that
the restrictions of orthodoxy are opposed to the fullest possible experience
of truth and life.

INTRODUCTION

The problem of evil is, in my opinion, the best
point of departure for a fruitful dialogue between Christianity, traditionally
conceived, and those strands of modern philosophy which have been perceived
--indeed, have sometimes perceived themselves-- as a threat to that tradition.
As such, I will attempt first, to outline the problem of evil in the starkest
terms possible, presenting Augustine's approach to its solution followed
by a critical analysis; second, to present an alternative approach to the
questions which give rise to the problem --an approach derived in large
part from Spinoza and Nietzsche; and, third, to show how this more philosophically
acceptable alternative can be expressed in the categories of faith, allowing
us to reappropriate the tradition beyond the problem of evil.

PART ONE: Augustine's Approach to the Problem of Evil

Simply put, the problem of evil resides
in the apparently unavoidable contradiction between the notion of God as
omnipotent and omnibenevolent, on the one hand, and the existence of evil
(natural and moral), on the other.[1] Indeed, granting
that God is all powerful, it would seem impossible for us to vouch for
his benevolence, considering our first-hand experience of evil in the world.
Likewise, if we grant from the outset that God is the paradigm of goodness,
then it would seem that we must modify our conception of his power. However,
Christian "orthodoxy" remains unwilling to modify its conception of God's
goodness or his power --thus, the persistence of the problem.

St. Augustine was fully aware of this problem
and spent much --perhaps most-- of his philosophical energy attempting
to come to terms with it. In De ordine, he writes:

Those who ponder these matters are seemingly
forced to believe either that Divine Providence does not reach to these
outer limits of things or that surely all evils are committed by the will
of God. Both horns of this dilemma are impious, but particularly the latter
(1.1.1).

His approach to a solution to this problem is
three-pronged: 1) he holds that evil is a privation and cannot be properly
said to exist at all; 2) he argues that the apparent imperfection of any
part of creation disappears in light of the perfection of the whole; and
3) he argues that the origin of moral evil, together with that suffering
which is construed as punishment for sin, is to
be found in the free choice of the will of rational creatures.

As a Manichee, Augustine believed that both
God and the principle of evil were some sort of material substances, neither
deriving its existence from the other. Evil, although somehow smallerthan
God, was, nevertheless, infinite and presented a real problem for God to
overcome in the course of his cosmic existence. He describes his motives
for believing such things as
follows:

piety (however bizarre some of my beliefs were)
forbade me to believe that the good God had created an evil nature (Confessiones
5.10.20).

Even after Augustine had abandoned these "bizarre
beliefs" of the Manichees and had, as a Christian, arrived at the notion
of God as an immutable, spiritual substance, the existence of evil still
troubled him for:

Although I affirmed and firmly held divine immunity
from pollution and change and the complete immutability of our God, the
true God ... yet I had no clear and explicit grasp of the cause of evil.
Whatever it might be, I saw it had to be investigated, if I were to avoid
being forced by this problem to believe the immutable God to be mutable.
... I made my investigation without anxiety, certain that what the Manichees
said was untrue. With all my mind I fled from them, because ... I saw them
to be full of malice, in that they thought it more acceptable to say your
substance suffers evil than that their own substance actively does evil
(7.3.5).

He began to arrive at a solution to this difficulty
after having been introduced to "some books of the Platonists" (7.9.13).
His exposure to the neo-platonic notions that existence is good and that
evil is a privation, led him to see that even the corruptible world is
good:

It was obvious to me that things which are liable
to corruption are good. If they were the supreme goods, or if they were
not good at all, they could not be corrupted. For if they were supreme
goods, they would be incorruptible. If there were no good in them, there
would be nothing capable of being corrupted. ... all things that are corrupted
suffer privation of some good. If they were to be deprived of all good,
they would not exist at all. ... Accordingly, whatever things exist are
good, and the evil into whose origins I was inquiring is not a substance,
for if it were a substance, it would be good. ... Hence I saw and it was
made clear to me that you made all things good, and there are absolutely
no substances which you did not make (7.12.18).

"For [God]," he goes on to say, "evil does not
exist at all" (7.13.19). It would seem, then, that evil is an illusion
of sorts. This brings us to what we referred to above as his second approach
to the problem of evil which endeavors to explain this illusion.

In De Ordine, speaking with respect
to those aspects of creation which, if not actually evil, are, nonetheless,
disconcerting to human beings, Augustine remarks that

what delights in a portion of place or time may
be understood to be far less beautiful than the whole of which it is a
portion. And furthermore, it is clear to a learned man that what displeases
in a portion displeases for no other reason than because the whole, with
which that portion harmonizes wonderfully, is not seen, but that, in the
intelligible world, every part is as beautiful and perfect as the whole
(328-9).

Anticipating this conclusion at the beginning
of that same work, he criticizes those who "think the whole universe is
disarranged if something is displeasing to them," comparing them to those
who would criticize an artisan when they had no concept of the whole project,
having seen only a small portion of it (240-1). Likewise, in Book Seven
of his Confessiones, he argues that things appear evil when considered
from a finite perspective, isolated from the totality of which they are
a part. Superior things, indeed, "are self-evidently better than inferior,"
but "sounder judgment" holds that "all things taken together are better
than superior things by themselves" (7.13.19). "All things" include corruptible
things, the destruction of which "brings what existed to non-existence
in such a way as to allow the consequent production of what is destined
to come into being" (de civitate Dei 12.5).

Most people would find this explanation tenable
when applied to conflicts which arise among non-human creatures; or, as
anexplanation of our aesthetic displeasure in the face of some seemingly
absurd, but relatively trivial, natural phenomenon; or even, perhaps, with
respect to human suffering, conceived of as a temporary expedient to a
greater good. This perspective encourages us to trust divine omnipotence
and to acknowledge the limits of human wisdom--neither of which is ultimately
repugnant. It falls short in most people's eyes, however, if it is intended
to convince them of the goodness of God in the face of human suffering
construed as retributive justice. The notion of eternal torment causes
particular difficulties. This aspect of the tradition might be overlooked
as a "mystery" to be lived with if orthodoxy permitted one to think that
God, although infinitely good, is of merely finite power. But it seems
incomprehensible that omnipotent God could punish human beings for something
that he, by virtue of his omnipotence, seems (at first glance, at least)
ultimately responsible for. Does Augustine assert that this seemingly untenable
aspect of reality, which is implied by the conjunction of human perdition
and divine omnipotence, is nothing? Or that it merely appears evil
when considered in isolation from the totality of which it is a part? As
we shall see, the answer is in one respect no, but in another, yes.

The answer is no, insofar as Augustine does
not merely dismiss those who raise this problem by referring them to the
two approaches to the problem already considered. Rather, addressing those
who attempt to lay blame on God for the sin of human beings and the punishment
consequent to that sin, he takes a third approach, arguing that the origin
of moral evil and the punishment it entails is a consequence of the free
choice of rational creatures.

Sin, Augustine argues, is voluntary, disrupting
the order of the universe, while the punishment is said (redundantly) to
be "penal," restoring that order (De libero arbitrio 3.9.26). The
important point is that insofar as we must talk of evil as if it were something,
God is not responsible for it, rather his creatures are. God is to be praised
insofar as he is willing and able to harmonize the dishonor introduced
by the evil will of individual creatures with the honor intrinsic to the
whole (3.9.26). If we inquire as to the cause of the evil will, Augustine
claims an ignorance of sorts, consistent with his notion of evil as a privation:

We cannot doubt that [evil] movement of the will,
that turning away from the Lord God [our "aversion" to the unchangeable
good], is sin; but surely we cannot say thatGod is the author of sin? God,
then, will not be the cause of that movement; but what will be its cause?
If you ask this, and I answer that I do not know, probably you will be
saddened. And yet that would be a true answer. That which is nothing cannot
be known. ... All good is from God. Hence there is no natural existence
which is not from God. Now that movement of "aversion," which we admit
is sin, is a defective movement; and all defect comes from nothing. Observe
where it belongs and you will have no doubt that it does not belong to
God. Because that defective movement is voluntary, it is placed within
our power. If you fear it, all you have to do is simply not to will it.
If you do not will it, it will not exist (2.20.54).

Pressed further, he says that "an evil will is
... the cause of all evil wills," indicating that no cause is to be found
outside
the will itself and suggesting that to look further is itself evidence
of an evil will (Cf. De civitate Dei 12.7).

Despite this rather radical appeal to human
freedom and his pious admonition that one ought not to look further for
the cause of an evil will, Augustine realizes that he is not yet off the
hook. He goes on to show that the necessity intrinsic to foreknowledge,
per
se, is not inconsistent with the notion of free will (3.4.10).
But considering the fact that divine foreknowledge is coupled with omnipotence,
how, in the final analysis, "is the creator to escape having imputed to
him anything that happens necessarily in his creature" (3.5.12)? Augustine
spends the next 20, or so, paragraphs attempting to defend God against
those who would cry foul. He begins by insisting that piety requires that
we give thanks to God--period (3.5.12). Then, he reaffirms his position
that sin originates in the free will of human beings and that we have no
right to criticize God for not creating us without the ability to turn
away from him (3.5.14). He goes on to assert that even the worst souls
are, by virtue of their reason and their free will, superior to corporeal
things and that, as such, God should be praised for their existence, whatever
defects they exhibit (3.5.16). Then, after once again affirming that there
is no conflict between the necessity of sin and its voluntary origin, he
describes unhappiness as the just reward of ingratitude (3.6.18). Finally,
to those who say they would prefer not to have existed, he indicates that
they are fooling themselves --that their desire to exist, even in their
misery, confirms that existence is the greatest boon (3.7.20). Indeed,
he argues that the suicidal person's desire for death actually reflects
a desire for rest, not the desire for non-existence (3.8.23). All this
is highly interesting and very relevant to those who are determined to
come to terms with themselves and with God. Nevertheless, it would be an
understatement to say that it does not conclusively demonstrate that the
origin of every aspect of creation --including those wills which are called
evil and those creatures which are eternally damned-- should not ultimately
be attributed to the will of God. Augustine senses this, but can only assert
that while the human ability to sin --together with the possibility
of experiencing the misery that accompanies sin)-- is necessary to theperfection
of the universe, actual sin and actual misery are not (3.9.26). These assertions
are correlative with second and third approaches presented above --the
former with his position that the imperfection of any part of creation
disappears in light of the perfection of the whole; and the latter with
his insistence that the origin of moral evil, together with that suffering
which is construed as punishment for sin, is to be found in the free choice
of the will of rational creatures. But consistent with the first approach
--evil as a privation-- Augustine seems to be saying that
inasmuch as condemned souls are constituted by their evil wills, for
which no cause is to be found outside of their own freedom, they are in
fact nothing. Nevertheless, insofar as they actually are --existing
eternally as immortal souls, however defective-- they must be considered
good and we may attribute their origin to the divine will. If, however,
we ask why God, in his omnipotence, chose to create beings with the ability
to choose eternal self-destruction, Augustine can only a assert that creation
is more perfect by virtue of these seeming imperfections --i.e. the ability
to sin, together with the possibility of experiencing the misery
that accompanies it (3.9.26). Thus, it seems that Augustine, in the final
analysis, depends more heavily on the first and second approach, the appeal
to the free choice of the will failing ultimately to eliminate the problem.

Having considered Augustine's approach to our
problem, we are now in position to articulate clearly what is at stake.
The real problem in the problem of evil --the core of it, as it
were-- is that granting God's omnipotence, there seems to be no way to
avoid the conclusion that God finds the perdition of an indefinite number
of human souls acceptable in light of the greater good which their perdition
makes possible. Thus, even if we grant that, it makes sense to talk
of a rational creature freely choosing its own perdition, and even if we
hypothesize that God has in some sense limited his power with a view to
creating more glorious creatures by virtue of their free will,[2]
it is nevertheless the case, according to the tradition, 1) that, in the
light of his eternal existence, God knows the end from the beginning; and
2) that he had no need to create; and even if he chose to create, he might
have created differently. As such, we cannot avoid placing full responsibility
for existence --including every aspect of human experience, whether in
this life or the next-- squarely on God's shoulders. Let us admit that
when we bow before God, it is not because his "justice" has been demonstrated
to us. It would seem more reasonable to say that we bow before his power.
It is pointless to try and defend God against those who cry foul. A more
fruitful approach, as we shall see, is to understand why we ought, indeed,
to bow before his power.[3] Rather than attempting to
justify
the ways of God to man, let us show those who would reply against
God the foolishness of their objections, admonishing them, in the Spirit
of Augustine, to give thanks.[4] But this can only be
done if we let the dialectic of the problem take us beyond the confines
of orthodoxy and, finally, beyond good and evil.[5]

PART TWO: Spinoza & Nietzsche on Evil

For Spinoza, evil presents no problem
in the sense that it does for Augustine. Not directly constrained by Christian
dogma,
he is free to modify the traditional notions of God's goodness and
power --both of which he does. What is interesting is that many of his
conclusions are strikingly similar to Augustine's. Considered from a strictly
philosophical perspective, Spinoza's position seems to preserve and explain
more fully that which is most philosophically defensible in Augustine,
while at the same time excluding that which is most philosophically offensive.
Preserved, in a sense, and more fully explained, is the neo-platonic concept
that evil is a privation which cannot be properly said to exist at all,
as well as the notion that the apparent imperfection of any part of creation
disappears in light of the perfection of the whole. Excluded is Augustine's
assertion that the origin of moral evil --together with the origin of that
suffering which is construed as punishment for sin-- is to be found in
the free choice of the will of rational creatures. A brief review of Spinoza's
metaphysics will allow us to explain this more clearly.

For Spinoza, there is one substance,
God or Nature, which constitutes the whole of reality and which has infinite
attributes, only two of which we can know --extension and thought. He avoids
the mind/body problem by adopting a parallelism characterized by the notion
that thoughts relate causally only to thoughts and bodies relate causally
only to bodies. An infinite number of individual entities --modifications
of the divine substance-- proceed by necessity from the divine nature.
Our essence is the conatus with which we endeavor to persist in
our own being (Ethica 3, Pr. 7). Considered under the attribute
of extension, this conatus would be equivalent to (or at least analogous
to) the genetic code which governs the growth and development of our bodies.
Considered under the attribute of thought, this conatus is called
will
(E3,Pr9,Scol.).
Since virtue, for Spinoza, is power, an individual, acting
according to its essence, endeavors to bring about those conditions in
which its power of activity is increased (See E3 Pref. and Def. 8). As
rational animals, the highest good for human beings is achieved through
the intellectual love of God. The intellectual aspect of this love
is important for two reasons. First, insofar as our
understanding
of God (or Nature) according to the attribute of extension increases, we
are better able to produce those physical and environmental conditions
in which we can flourish; and, insofar as our understanding of God according
to the attribute of thought increases, we are better able to control our
emotions. Second, insofar as we find ourselves subject to adverse conditions
that are beyond our control, we find consolation in our understanding of
the necessity of events (see
APPENDIX "B" which is attached to
this paper).

According to Spinoza, nothing is good or evil in
itself but only insofar as the mind is affected by it. Because our happiness
and unhappiness depends on the quality of that which we love, true
blessedness is attained by loving that which is infinite and
eternal --viz. all that follows from the eternal order and nature's
fixed laws (Treatise on the Emendation of the Intellect 233-235,
hereafter TEI). Our achievement of blessedness through the intellectual
love of God entails that we come to know and love ourselves as we are
essentially. We "sin," in a manner of speaking, insofar as we desire or
seem to desire that which is contrary to our essence. I say "seem to desire,"
because, for Spinoza, the self, considered as such, cannot desire that
which is contrary to its own advantage. And insofar as the self actsaccording
to reason --which for Spinoza is the only time human
beings really act at all-- it will pursue its true advantage and be
resigned in those circumstance that are beyond its control. However, because
human reason and power is limited, individual human beings are sometimes
controlled by passive emotions. Such emotions constitute our bondage to
external powers. Propositions 4 and 5 of Part Four of the Ethica
state that:

4) It is impossible for a man not to be part
of Nature and not to undergo changes other than those which can be understood
solely through his own nature and of which he is the adequate cause. 5)
The force and increase of any passive emotion and its persistence in existing
is defined not by the power whereby we ourselves endeavor to persist in
existing, but by the power of external causes compared with our own power.

We see, then, that for Spinoza, unlike Augustine,
evil is something which we suffer, not something we actively choose. However,
this seems quite consistent with Augustine's notion of evil as a privation
--a diminution of my ability to express my essence which is due, however,
not to the free choice of my will, but to the force of external powers
which happen to conflict with my essence.[6] I am "free"
only insofar as I will my own essence, which, a priori, expresses
the will of God. The degree of my self knowledge and the extent to which
my essence finds expression in the world is dependent upon my environment.
Insofar as I seem to will that which is contrary to my essence, I am in
bondage and am not, strictly speaking, willing at all. Furthermore, because
the power and will of God is manifest only in activity, Spinoza would agree
with Augustine that insofar as anything is --insofar as it exists
(endeavors to persist in its own being)-- it derives its being from God.
In his Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, Spinoza formulates these
ideas as follows:

Whatever man ... acquires for himself to help
preserve his being, or whatever Nature provides for him without any effort
on his part, all this is provided for him solely by the divine power, acting
either through human nature or externally to human nature. Therefore whatever
human nature can effect solely by its own power to preserve its own being
can rightly be called God's internal help, and whatever falls to man's
advantage from the power of external causes can rightly be called God's
external help. And from this, too, can readily be deduced what must be
meant by God's choosing, for since no one acts except by the predetermined
order of Nature --that is from God's direction and decree-- it follows
that no one chooses a way of life for himself or accomplishes anything
except by the special vocation of God, who has chosen one man before others
for particular way of life (89-90). The happiness and peace of the man
who cultivates his natural understanding depends not on the sway of fortune
(God's external help) but on his own internal virtue (God's internal help)
[111].

This is hard medicine, but in my opinion it constitutes
the only philosophically consistent position that still allows us to make
sense out of the tradition. It remains for us to show how it does so,
but first we must relate Spinoza to Nietzsche.

Despite significant dissimilarities between
Nietzsche and Spinoza --in both philosophy and temperament-- Nietzsche
often takes positions that are strikingly similar to his predecessor's.[7]

In Human, All Too Human --written during
his so called "positivistic period"-- we find Nietzsche taking the following
positions:

We don't accuse nature of immorality when it
sends us a thunderstorm, and makes us wet: why do we call the injurious
man immoral? Because in the first case, we assume necessity, and in the
second a voluntarily governing free will. But this distinction is
in error (102). The man who has fully understood the theory of complete
irresponsibility can no longer include the so-called justice that punishes
and rewards within the concept of justice ... (105). If one were omniscient,
one would be able to calculate each individual action in advance, each
step in the progress of knowledge, each error, each act of malice. To be
sure, the acting man is caught in his illusion of volition ... [This illusion],
his assumption that free will exists, is also part of the calculable mechanism
(106). When a misfortune strikes, we can overcome it either by removing
its cause or else by changing the effect it has on our feelings ... (108).

There are elements in each of these texts --e.g.,
the denial of free will, the rejection of the idea retributive justice,
and the recognition of possibility of overcoming our emotional reactions
rather than our external environment-- which resonate with the
sympathetic reader of Spinoza. And while, in later years, Nietzsche
loses some of his positivistic fervor, we shall see that significant similarities
are retained. They can be reduced to the proposition that an unconditional
affirmation of existence isprerequisite to the fullest expression of our essence.

Recall that Spinoza argues that the degree
of blessedness which we attain is dependent on the quality of that which
we love, pointing out that

Strife will never arise on account of that which
is not loved; there will be no sorrow if it is lost, no envy if it is possessed
by another, no fear, no hatred --in a word, no emotional agitation, all
of which, however, occur in the case of the love of perishable things ...
But love towards a thing eternal and infinite feeds the mind with joy alone,
unmixed with any sadness. This is greatly to be desired, and to be
sought with all our might (TEI 235).

From Spinoza's perspective, then, if we are to
achieve blessedness, we must learn to love every aspect of that which is
--which
is, in the words of Kierkegaard, the power that grounds us. This
includes loving corruptible things, as such, together with the process
of becoming in general. Nietzsche expresses a very similar insight, in
Thus
Spoke Zarathustra:

Have you ever said Yes to a single joy? O my
friends, then you said Yes too to all woe. All things are entangled,
ensnared, enamored; if ever you wanted one thing twice, if ever you said,
"You please me, happiness! Abide, moment!" then you wanted all back.
All anew, all eternally, all entangled, ensnared, enamored --oh, then you
loved
the world. Eternal ones, love it eternally and evermore; and to woe too,
you say: go, but return! For all joy wants --eternity (Portable
Nietzsche 435).

Leaving aside Nietzsche's notion of eternal recurrence,
his position is quite close to that of Spinoza. Reminiscent of Spinoza's
intellectual
love of God, Nietzsche posits love of fate as his "formula for
greatness":

My formula for greatness in a human being is
amor
fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward,
not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal
it --all idealism is mendaciousness in the face of what is necessary--
but love it (Ecce Homo 258).

This is not to say that Nietzsche's greatness
and Spinoza's blessedness are identical, but only that they are
closely related. Greatness, which we may provisionally define as
extraordinary
success in a finite context, depends on conditions external to our
essence (God's external help/fortune), whereas blessedness
depends on our "internal virtue" (God's internal help). Having granted
this distinction, I would argue that true greatness can only be attributed
to those individuals who, in addition to external success, are characterized
by the especially appropriate manner in which they relate to the power
which grounds them and, consequently, to their own essence. By virtue of
their right relation to themselves and to God, such people have, experienced
true blessedness. To the extent that we say no to any aspect of
reality --that which is necessary-- to that extent we cut ourselves off
from the only source of abundant life and have, in fact, negated that which
constitutes the conditions for the realization of our highest hopes and
most noble possibilities. Because our essence and our authentic possibilities
are inextricably intertwined with all that is and all that has been, Nietzsche's
Zarathustra, in the spirit of Spinoza, teaches that redemption is achieved
when our will becomes harmonized with the eternal necessity that governs
the play of appearances:

To redeem those who lived in the past and to
re-create all 'it was' into a 'thus I willed it'--that alone should I call
redemption (Portable Nietzsche 251).

Redemption, in this sense, requires that we take
our stand beyond good and evil and seems to require that we embrace
a kind of determinism. We can, it seems, do what we will, but we
can't will what we will.[8] Our real project is
to discover our
essential will, from whence alone our lives derive their meaning and
purpose. Both Spinoza and Nietzsche seem to be saying that this discovery
is facilitated by our affirmation of those aspects of reality that are
beyond our control, which requires that we attempt, on the level of reflective
consciousness, not to be controlled by such passive emotions as guilt,
fear, and regret.[9] This is possible only insofar as
we come to know, love, and (consciously) will ourselves as we are essentially,
all of which presupposes --or, constitutes!-- a right relationship to the
power that grounds us. This right relationship to the power that grounds
us is realized to the degree that our reflective consciousness is characterized
by Spinoza's intellectual love for God and Nietzsche's love of
fate, which are, practically speaking, closely related, if not identical
concepts.[10] We must not imagine, however, that the
breach between our empirical or conscious self and our essential self is
to be completely overcome --at least not in the course of this embodiment.
Relative to consciousness, our essential self will always retain a transcendent
aspect
--in fact, we may refer to it as our transcendent self. However,
despite the unavoidable dissonance that exists between the two, we can
hope to experience a narrowing of the chasm that exists between them as
we endeavor to stay attuned to our essential will, which is, in fact, the
will of God. To discover and exercise our essential will is to experience
authentic existence.

If Spinoza is right, and the attribute of extension
expresses my essence as fully, in its own way, as the attribute of thought,
it may one day be the case that our knowledge of the human body will be
complete enough to arrive at an experience of authentic existence through
the manipulation of our physical organism. At this point however, such
a possibility remains remote and the only realistic possibility of our
achieving the abundant life which both Nietzsche and Spinoza envision is
to change the way we think. In the past, this was achieved through the
practice of religion. We studied the Bible and entrusted ourselves to Christian
ministers and mystics who functioned as guides, helping us along on our
pilgrimage. For many moderns, however, the
implausibility of the biblical narrative --particularly the gospel
narratives (construed as a historical, empirical reality)-- together with
the bad impression made by those who have promoted a legalistic, provincial
moralism as the way of salvation, have left them unable to relate
to the Christian tradition. This inability constitutes a great handicap
to individuals whose consciousness, in its most fundamental structures,
has been informed by that tradition. Even if it is possible for them to
come to know and love their essential selves apart from the categories
of Christian faith, it is nevertheless rendered more difficult by the resentment
that they bear toward the tradition. At times, they come into contact with
elements of the tradition which really resonate with their essential selves
--i.e. with their higher or transcendent selves, in which
they ceased to believe when they rejected the tradition. Such moments are
very disconcerting to those whose conscience has --perhaps for very good
reasons-- been turned against Christianity. They imagine that to understand
and identify with a part, implies the truth and, thus the necessary acceptance
of, the whole as a literal, historical reality. Their heart, for a moment,
leaps within them at the prospect of embracing again that which they forsook
with such agony, but a moments reflection suffices to recall their reasons
for rejecting it in the first place.[11] What they fail
to realize is the possibility that a myth, however false when taken at
face value, is not merely a lie. Rather it is a story that is (or may be)
false on the outside, but true on the inside.[12] It
is my opinion that the Bible in general, and the New Testament in particular,
conveys such a myth, and that insofar as our consciousness, on a very fundamental
level, has been informed by that myth, we would do well to let go of our
resentment, opening our minds to the possibility of learning from it once
again. In other words, let us not throw the baby out with the bath water.
To be sure, the water is dirty --at certain times and places extremely
dirty. Nevertheless, those who have a real affinity for this tradition--
often reflected in their resentment toward it --are doing violence to themselves
by refusing to take another look. It is in this spirit, then, that I offer
in what follows an alternative approach to the Christian myth --one which
is intended, practically speaking, to captivate the imagination, bringing
it into the service of our essential self, without, however, violating
our reason. Its chief theoretical advantages are that it avoids the problem
of evil; is not threatened by modern philosophy, however "positivistic";
and it escapes Nietzsche's chief criticisms Christianity.[13][14]

PART THREE: Reappropriating the Tradition

In light of the discussion in part two,
we can now understand why Jesus said, "The first of all the commandments
is, Hear O Israel; The Lord our God is one Lord: And thou shalt love the
Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy
strength" (Mk. 12:29). If we love God, we love his sovereign will and the
eternal order that he has decreed. To the degree that we love him we become
one with him and will be no more confounded by the turn of events than
our heavenly Father is. We are partakers of his divine nature, and, as
such, experience eternal life. Becoming conscious of ourselves as incarnations
of God, we begin to participate in the life of God, and his image begins
to shine through in our lives. This is not a reason for pride, however,
but for joy and thanksgiving! "We are his workmanship, created in Christ
Jesus, ... who is the image of the invisible God, the first born of every
creature: for by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that
are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions,
or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him and for him
... in whom all the building fitly framed together growth unto an holy
temple in the Lord" (Eph. 2:10; Col. 1:15-17; Eph. 2:21). We, as members
of his body, share in this eternal purpose. We are, in him, "builded together
for an habitation of God through the Spirit" (Eph. 2:22). This is why "all
things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the
called, according to his purpose" (Rom. 8:28). This is why we can have
no life apart from Christ.

But the name of Christ does not refer merely
to Jesus of Nazareth. Indeed, the truth or falsity of the legends surrounding
the life of Jesus is irrelevant to the reality of Christ which we can
experience first-hand inasmuch as he represents the concept and actualization
(in the Hegelian sense) of our true self. He is our formal cause
or essence (in the Aristotelian sense), as well as our final cause
or ultimate goal. He is our freedom and our destiny. Because our essence
is the essence of a "for itself," and not merely an "in itself," we may
approach that essence as a Thou, rather than an it --the
term of our transcendence; the
Self toward which we are transcending; an incarnation of God.

Our essential self stands in an absolute relation
to the absolute --that is, our relationship to the power that grounds us
(God) is mediated absolutely and exclusively by our essential self (Christ
in us). As such, a right relationship to our essential
self implies a right relationship to the power that grounds it and
vise versa; and, insofar as human beings share a common essence, a right
relation to our Self and God implies a right relation to our neighbor,
as well.[15] Suffering and death are intrinsic to life
and must be affirmed (insofar as they are necessary) --Christ is the lamb
slain from the foundation of the world. Despairing in the face of that
which this seemingly harsh truth demands (the garden of Gethsemane, Golgotha,
the tomb), we flee our essential self and, as such, are automatically in
a disrelation to the power that grounds us --cut off from the possibility
of an abundant life. To the extent, however, that we come to know and love
ourself as we are essentially, the disrelation we experience is
rectified and we are able to realize our highest potential (Christ in us,
our hope of glory). We begin at once to realize this potential when in
the depths of our despair, we make the movement of infinite resignation,
and choose to bear our cross, like Christ, freely and innocently and without
the spirit of revenge (Father forgive them, for they know not what they
do).[16] When this movement is made --completely
and without reservation, holding nothing back-- our resignation is transformed
into faith and the world of which we despaired a short time before is vivified
and we experience the very life and power of the Son of God --this is resurrection
power.

Thus, the passion of Christ is, or at least
can be, a symbol of the essence of life --death and resurrection-- rather
than a
symbol of our despair, reflecting our dissatisfaction with ourselves
and with existence. The true Christian is one who does not flee life, imagining
that existence is refuted by suffering and death, but rather bears with
patience the problematic aspects of
our existential experience, understanding that these aspects, too,
constitute, in part, the conditions necessary to the highest
expression of life. When we embrace this faith, we put off the old
man, Adam, who risks eternal torment by virtue of his unfortunate preoccupation
with the polar opposition of good and evil (and who experiences suffering
as punishment for sin), and put on the mind of Christ, who experiences
abundant life, beyond good and evil (whose suffering is redemptive). Like
Paul, who admonishes us to "present our bodies a living sacrifice" (Rom.
12:1), we are "crucified with Christ" (Gal. 2:20) and we "fill up that
which is behind of the afflictions of Christ" (Col. 1:24). From this standpoint,
we begin to see that

[Each human being] represents a unique and valuable
experiment on the part of nature ... the very special and always significant
and remarkable point at which the world's phenomena intersect, only once
in this way and never again. That is why every [person's] story is important,
eternal, sacred; that is why every [person] as long as [he or she] lives
and fulfills the will of nature is wondrous and worthy of every consideration.
In each individual the spirit has become flesh, in each [person] the creation
suffers, within each one a redeemer is nailed to the cross. Each [person's]
life represents a road toward [himself or herself], an attempt at such
a road, the intimation of a path. No [person] has ever been entirely and
completely [himself or herself]. Yet each one strives to become that --one
in an awkward, the other in a more intelligent way, each as best [he or
she] can (From the prologue to Demian, by Hermann Hesse).

CONCLUSION

At the end of Part One, we came to the conclusion
that as orthodox Christians, we bow(ed) --albeit, more or less,
unconsciously-- not to the justice of God, but to his power. Unable
to think this thought, however, we insisted (as orthodox believers) on
affirming the contradiction intrinsic to judgement that one can conjoin
omnipotence and human perdition without attributing evil to God. But of
all the "evils" that we can imagine, this conjunction is, perhaps, the
only one which it is absolutely impossible to dispel by an appeal to our
finite perspective. We attempted to make this contradiction explicit so
as to permit the dialectic of the problem to carry us beyond it.

In Part Two, we found that we were able to
avoid the contradiction by jettisoning the notions of free will and moral
responsibility (to any heteronomous law), and by modifying our conception
of God's goodness and power, in favor of a more
comprehensive view. We realized instead that our only duty is to will
our own essence. Furthermore, we saw that God is, indeed, infinitely good,
but can be percieved as such only by those who love him with all their
heart, mind, soul, and strength. His power, too, is infinite, but he
is, in fact, that which he is, and cannot be otherwise. We are
justified in bowing before his
power because it is the power which grounds us. Our unconditional love
of God constitutes perfect self-love. This is not the kind of self-love
which leads to self-destruction, but that which, for the tradition, is
characteristic of the life of Christ. By bringing this thought to consciousness,
we bring before ourselves the possibility of consciously and deliberately
choosing to enter into that life, or consciously and deliberately refusing
that life. Saying yes to life is giving conscious assent to that which,
as Augustine pointed out (De libero arbitrio 3.7.20), we already
choose, viscerally, as it were, on a pre-reflective level. However, the
ability to say yes to life remains a "grace". We admonish people to choose
it because "it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them
which believe." Insofar as we recognize the choice and reject the life
which is proffered, we suffer the penalty --unhappiness, Augustine said,
is the just reward of ingratitude (De libero arbitrio 3.6.18). In
my opinion, the tradition has permitted its adherents to make this choice
only on an unconscious level. It is only by letting the dialectic of the
problem carry us beyond good and evil that we have become fully conscious
of that upon which our life depends. In Part Three, we presented an alternative
approach to the Christian myth --one which was intended, practically speaking,
to captivate the imagination, bringing it into the service of our essential
self, without, however, violating our reason. Its chief theoretical
advantages were said to be that it avoids the problem of evil; is not threatened
by modern philosophy (however "positivistic"); and it escapes Nietzsche's
chief criticisms of Christianity.

It remains for the reader to decide whether
or not this dialogue between the tradition and those opposed to the tradition
has been fruitful. For me, its fruitfulness is confirmed by the renewed
relationship I have experienced with my Self and my God.

END NOTES

1. This contradiction is presented poetically in
The
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam --see Appendix "A," below.

2. This is C.S. Lewis's approach to the problem in Mere
Christianity. See Book Four, Chapter 3, "Time and Beyond." Cf.
The
Screwtape Letters, Letter XXVII.

3. Apropos of "justice" and "power," the
following text from De libero arbitrio is quite interesting: "If
you are not in your own power, then someone must have you in his power
who is either more powerful or less powerful than yourself. If he is less
powerful the fault is your own and the misery just. But if someone, more
powerful than you are, hold you in his power you will not rightly think
so rightful an order to be unjust" (3.6.19).

4. The Apostle Paul dealt with such objections, not
by defending the justice of God --and especially not by appealing to "free
will"-- but by pointing out the absurdity of the creature passing judgment
on the creator:

Therefore hath he mercy on whom he will have
mercy, and whom he will he hardenth. Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth
he yet find fault? for who hath resisted his will? Nay but, O man, who
art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that
formed it, Why hast thou made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the
clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto
dishonour? (Romans 9:18-21).

There are elements of this in Augustine's approach,
but his extreme discomfort with the "core" of the problem is evident --a
discomfortwhich is not evident in the writings of St. Paul.

5. At this point, I beg those staunch defenders of orthodoxy
who truly know and love the Lord their God to bear with me. Despite the
seeming harshness of my criticism, I assure you that I am not your enemy.
And, despite their reputations, neither are Spinoza and Nietzsche, to whom
I now turn.

6. Such external powers are not essentially opposed
to me. In another context, the same power might work to my advantage.

7. Nietzsche himself calls Spinoza his "precursor" (Portable
Nietzsche 92). His discovery of Spinoza seems to have come after the
publication of the Human, All To Human.

8. By "will," here, I indicate our desire to do that
which is within our power, not a mere whim or wish.

9. It would not be desirable to eliminate such emotions
insofar as each has a positive function.

10. I have emphasized the practical similarity of these
concepts. For a more detailed theoretical analysis that emphasizes their
differences, see "Spinoza and Nietzsche: Amor dei and Amor fati"
in Volume Two of Yeimiyahu Yovel's Spinoza and Other Heretics,
Princeton Univ. Press, 1989.

11. What many find unacceptable in Christian thought
(or at least in some, not insignificant, strands of it) is that 1) In the
name of piety, attempts are made to limit freedom of speech and thought;
2) the body, and the temporal order in general, is disparaged as intrinsically
flawed or evil; 3) it is demanded that one accept mythic and religious
imagery as scientific/historical explanations of phenomena; 4) various
prevailing cultural norms are accepted as absolute moral imperatives, not
subject to rational criticism; and 5) particular texts are idolatrously
accepted as the essential foundation rather than the creative expression
of religious faith.

12. I came across this definition of "myth" in a Jungian
analysis of medieval romance, the title and author of which escapes me
at the moment.

13. I am merely asserting the last of these three "theoretical
advantages" and do not attempt to defend it explicitly in this
paper.

14. At this point, I feel somewhat like Paul, whose
gospel was, to the Jew, "a stumbling block," and to the Greek, "foolishness."
"Orthodox" Christians imagine (understandably) that the legitimacy of their
faith depends on the historical truth of the gospel narratives. They stumble
at the notion that countless millions, past and present, have had a similar
experience of faith and salvation --people who never heard the name of
Christ, or have rejected the name because of that which they associate
with it; people who, despite their ignorance of Jesus of Nazareth, or their
repugnance to traditional Christianity, may, nonetheless, know Christ
--in the Spirit, as it were-- just as intimately as any orthodox believer.
Atheists, on the other hand, tend to consider all "god-talk" to be foolishness.
Preoccupation with such things, they might say, is a vestige of a more
primitive (or perhaps infantile) stage of human development --something
that one should cast aside in maturity.

15. The right relation to our neighbor is more accurately
construed as the effect, not the cause of our right relationship to God,
although it may be the case that the two are inseparable.

16. Zarathustra teaches, "that man be delivered
from revenge, that is for me the bridge to the highest hope, and a
rainbow after long storms" (Portable Nietzsche 211).

APPENDIX "A"

Selections from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
[all selections from the 5th edition, unless bracketed, in which case they
are from the 2nd edition]:

[108] Ah, Love! could you and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this
sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
Re-mould it
nearer to the Heart's Desire!

29 Into this Universe, and
Why not knowing
Nor Whence,
like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither,
willy-nilly blowing.

30 What, without asking, hither
hurried Whence?
And, without
asking, Whither hurried hence!
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the
memory of that insolence!

78 What! out of senseless
Nothing to provoke
A conscious
Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting
Penalties, if broke!

79 What! from his helpless
Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for
what he lent him dross-allay'd--
Sue for a Debt he never did contract,
And cannot answer--Oh
the sorry trade!

[86] Nay, but for terror of his wrathful
Face,
I swear I will
not call Injustice Grace;
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
Would kick so
poor a Coward from the place.

80 Oh Thou, who didst with
pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road
I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and
then impute my Fall to Sin!

81 Oh Thou, who Man of baser
Earth didst make,
And ev'n with
Paradise devise the Snake:
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd--Man's
forgiveness give--and take!

APPENDIX "B"

[Spinoza] But human power is very
limited and is infinitely surpassed by the power of external causes, and
so we do not have absolute power to adapt to our purposes things external
to us. However, we shall patiently bear whatever happens to us that is
contrary to what is required by consideration of our own advantage, if
we are conscious that we have done our duty and that our power was not
extensive enough for us to have avoided the said things, and that we are
a part of the whole of Nature whose order we follow. If we clearly and
distinctly understand this, that part of us, will be fully resigned and
will endeavor to persevere in that resignation. For in so far as we understand,
we can desire nothing but that which must be, nor in an absolute sense,
can we find contentment in anything but truth. And so in so far as we rightly
understand these matters, the endeavor of the better part of us is in harmony
with the order of the whole of Nature (E4, Appendix, item 32).